


Lady Bear

by koalathebear



Series: The Wolf and The Bear [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Epic Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Missing Scene, No Romance, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7337893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a few <i>very</i> loosely connected little scribbles about my new favourite character in Game of Thrones.  She's too young for me to really ship her with anyone, but there would be a nice dynamic between Jon Snow (who in the books is only 17 or 18) and the lady of Bear Island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dead of Bear Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Bastards.

The small figure in black stood at the edge of the camp, narrow shoulders hunched as she stood in the bitter cold, a splash of sombre colour against the whiteness of the snowy landscape.

"What are you doing, Lady Bear?" Jon asked impulsively and the young girl whipped around and glared at him defiantly.

"What did you call me?" she demanded incredulously.

"I'd be cautious if I was you, my lord," Davos murmured, biting back a smile. Unlike most of Westeros, the women of Bear Island were trained in the use of weapons and armour, as they were expected to defend hearth and home should wildling raiders from the Frozen Shore to the north attack. "Wouldn't do for you to survive the battle just to be gutted like a fish by the Lady of Bear Island …"

"It would be treason to gut my liege lord," Lady Lyanna Mormont retorted, making Jon smile a rare smile. His smile faded as he saw that the young girl was standing beside the bodies of half a dozen fallen men. The sigils on their armour proclaimed that they had been fighting men of Bear Island … as promised by their lady, they had fought with the ferocity and bravery of ten mainlanders.

He watched as Lady Mormont bowed over the body of one of the men and used a sharp dagger to cut hair from his head and hand it to the maester who stood at her side. She reached down to remove the amulet from around the man's throat, also handing it to her Maester who placed it into a small, brown cloth, along with the lock of hair.

Jon watched silently as the young lady of Bear Island attended to the remaining five bodies at her feet. He dropped to one knee beside their corpses, face reverent. "I express my heartfelt gratitude for their sacrifice," he murmured.

"They all had wives … children …" Lady Lyanna murmured, her ordinarily expressionless voice touched with sorrow. 

"They fought bravely, my lady – and brought you much honour."

"Of course they did," she replied absently, staring at their bodies with a distant expression on their face. 

Jon watched as Lady Mormont and her men dragged the bodies of the fallen to the funeral pyres. When he would have aided her in dragging a heavy man's body, she shook her head. "We tend our own dead, my lord," she told him briefly and with great effort, hauled the body of a man more than twice her size to the pyre.

Long after the fires had turned cold and Lady Lyanna continued to stand by the charred remains of her fighting men. "You may leave me," she ordered her men.

"I cannot leave you alone out here, my lady," her commander began to speak.

Jon Snow nodded at the older man. "I will keep her safe," and the promise in his eyes and voice overcame the hesitation of Bear Island's commander and he left with the others, although he stood in the doorway of his tent, watching over his lady from a distance.

The two stood side by side in silence for some time. The former member of the Night's Watch, tall and straight beside the lady of Bear Island, dressed all in black cloth that contrasted starkly with her pale face.

"I am sorry about your brother, Rickon," she spoke unexpectedly.

Grief flickered across Jon's face. "Thank you my lady … I failed him … as I have failed so many others …" Self-recrimination and guilt coloured his voice.

"As we who follow you keep faith, then so must you," she reminded him, a note of stern reproof in her voice.

"I stand corrected, Lady Bear," he replied, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes.

"That's not my name."


	2. Ser Davos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing exciting. I just wanted to write a little conversation between Lady Mormont and Ser Davos.

"Why was the Lady Melisandre sent away, Ser Davos?" Lyanna asked suddenly as she stood on the ramparts and watched the red cloaked figure on horseback disappear into the snow-covered distance.

"The witch ordered the death of the Princess Shireen …she burned a child to death. That little girl was burned at the stake … alive …". His trembled with grief and fury.

Lyanna shuddered. "But why?"

"The witch believes in the power of King's Blood… And so the princess was sacrificed … although there was no darkness in that girl, no evil – she were pure and sweet and good and she died frightened and in pain …" Ser Davos' voice broke.

"I am sorry for your loss, Ser Davos …" Lyanna murmured. "What was she like … the Princess Shireen?"

"She was clever … and sweet … taught me to read – an almost impossible task. She trusted me and I failed her, my lady … I failed her in her time of need."

"Where were you?"

"Her father had sent me away … on a trumped up errand, designed to get me away from the camp …"

"You could not have known what he planned. To blame yourself is pointless," Lyanna told him bluntly. "This world can be cruel and harsh … there is no value in blaming yourself for things beyond your control."

"Your words may be true, my lady … yet I yearn to put my hands around her throat and squeeze until her life is gone."

"And why did you not?"

"Jon Snow chose to banish her instead …" the older man exhaled, his shoulders slumped in tired defeat. "In truth, it was I who sought her assistance … begged her to use her dark arts to bring him back from the dead. It's thanks to her that Jon Snow is alive."

Lyanna pointed towards a row of graves alone the treeline outside of Winterfell where she had buried the ashes of her fighting men who had fallen in the battle for Winterfell. "Those men are dead because of me. I ordered them to answer Jon Snow's call and they obeyed me."

"You were honouring your House's allegiance to House Stark, my lady …"

"And yet they are still dead and it is my fault." She placed one gauntleted hand on the snow-covered ramparts and studied the graves with a distant expression in her eyes. "My mother told me to treat our people well in life … to care for their families and their well-being … When I return to Bear Island, we will remember our fallen and I will ensure that their wives and children want for nothing. That is all I can do for them now." Her gaze was calm and unblinking.

"I see why Jon Snow wishes to keep you around for your counsel, my lady," Ser Davos told her with great deference in his voice before leaving.

Lyanna watched as Jon Snow came to stand by her side in the cold evening. She had no idea what matters had been discussed between the King in the North and his sister, but his face was sombre – as usual.

"Do you think I were wrong to spare her life, my lady?" he asked her abruptly.

"She brought you back from the dead … she could prove a powerful ally in the battle against the Night King…"

"You speak the truth – "

"And enough have died these past days, my lord … " she closed her eyes momentarily. "Your home is a graveyard … at night I can almost hear the spirits of the dead wailing …"

"That might be the Dire Wolves of the forest, my lady," he told her with a faint smile on his mouth and she glared at him for interrupting her declaration.

"You were right to spare her life, my lord," she told him in a low voice and walked back into the keep, leaving him alone with his deliberations.


	3. The King in the North!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have watched [The King in the North](http://koalathebear.livejournal.com/1564660.html) scene so many times and each time, I can't get over how stunned Jon looks as he stares at Lyanna, championing him. Just a little scribble about that moment.

_The King in the North! The King in the North!"_

Long after the cheers had faded in the Great Hall, very different words were replaying themselves in Jon Snow's ears.

 _I don't care if he's a bastard. Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my king from this day until his last day._

He hadn't been able to stop staring. Shock and amazement on his face for all to see. Confusion at the fierce bravery of this young lady of Bear Island.

He sat alone at the head table in the Great Hall of Winterfell. Sansa had retired earlier, resting a slender hand on his shoulder lightly before leaving, offering him silent encouragement. Tormund had walked up to him, shaking his blade in the direction of the younger man. "I _like_ that little girl. She must have free folk blood in her to be so feisty."

Ser Davos had come to stand before his lord and said in his quiet manner. "We did well to convince Lady Mormont to our cause, my lord. Her claims about the people of Bear Island may well be true after all."

"So it seems, Ser Davos," Jon agreed, a faint smile on his face even as his thoughts continued to spin in his head. To have a child, albeit a fierce young child, leaping her to her feet to defend him and champion his cause to a room of hostile and resistant men was beyond words … Sam had believed in him … Edd had believed in him … but they had grown to know him over time. 

Who was this child with the unfathomable dark eyes who had stared into his soul from the start and decided to throw in her lot with his. He had already been staggered when she had insisted on joining the riding party to parlay with Ramsay Bolton before the battle – against the counsel of her military commander. 

"My lady – I do not think it wise. Ramsay Bolton is a very dangerous man."

"Do you think he does not know who is supporting House Stark in this battle?" she had asked. 

"His retribution will be truly terrible …"

"I agree my lady, best that you do not come with us," Jon had tried to tell her, adding his words to her commander's.

"I will not hide in the shadows," she had insisted proudly. And she had not. Although too young to have ridden in the battle, she had been there to tend to the wounded, bury the dead … she had witnessed the entire battle – his stupidity, his anguished desperate attempt to save Rickon.

And still she supported him.

Finally, Jon rose and left the hall, blowing out the last of the flickering candles and began running lightly up the stairs to the guest chambers, two at a time.

"My lady," he greeted Lady Mormont who stood in the hallway, narrowly avoiding a collision. "But why are you standing here?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"My bedchambers are being prepared for me …"

"And they have left you to wait in the hall?" he demanded, slightly aghast.

"It is no matter. They will be ready in a matter of minutes."

"We can move you to a larger room …"

She shook her head. "It is not necessary my lord. The chambers allocated to me are perfectly satisfactory. They are merely warming the bed … and I thought I would wait out here rather than hover over the girls …"

"Today … what you said …" His voice was hesitant. "Did you mean it?"

Her brows rose sharply in astonishment. "Of course. I don't say things I don't mean."

He looked moved. "Thank you for your words in the hall, my lady … Not only did you sway hearts of stone … your words meant a great deal to me personally."

She bowed very low. 

"But I shall still call you Lady Bear," he teased as he made his way down the hall towards his own chambers and he smiled when he heard an affronted sniff.


	4. Longclaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are so many links between Jon Snow and House Mormont. His sword, his connection to former Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, Lyanna Mormont's support of his cause - and even the shield he held up to protect himself from Ramsay Bolton's arrows ...

Lyanna stared at the bastard sword that Jon Snow carried. Half a foot longer than a standard long sword, it was tapered to thrust as well as slash. The ripples in the dark steel indicated that it was of Valyrian steel. 

"Longclaw is the ancestral Valyrian steel bastard sword of House Mormont," she remarked calmly. "The Mormonts carried Longclaw for five hundred years…"

Jon acknowledged her words with a slight inclination of his head. His demeanour deferential, he drew Longclaw and offered it to her for her inspection. She took the blade from him with the air of one practised in holding swords and studied it with great curiosity.

"During its time with my family, this was a bear's head ..." she remarked, her fingers resting lightly on the snarling wolf's head of pale stone that had chips of garnet for the eyes.

"Your uncle Jeor Mormont … who was my Lord Commander … had a stonecarving builder replace the hilt with one to better reflect my … heritage."

"A bastard wielding a bastard sword," Lyanna noted coldly, meeting Jon's eyes gaze squarely.

"It has saved my life many times, Lady Bear," he told her. He remained quite still when Longclaw whipped through the air and came to rest with deadly accuracy against his throat, the tip of the sword's sharp steel resting lightly against his skin.

"I've told you. That's not my name." 

Jon did not move. "My life is forfeit should you wish it," he replied. "House Mormont has stood by House Stark … Longclaw has saved my life on more occasions than I have care to count … Bear Island answered my call in my time of greatest need thanks to you … and the fierce Lady Bear shamed the proud lords of the North, reminded them of their loyalty and returning them to our ranks…"

Emotion flickered in her obsidian eyes that were as dark as his own. She returned Longclaw to him. 

"If you call me that name in the hearing of others, I shall gut you in your sleep," she promised him.

His mouth twitched as he fell into step beside her as they walked down the cold corridors of Winterfell. "You remind me of my little sister Arya … she was … _is_ … as brave and fierce as you … "

"Where is she?"

"I don't know … but one day I will find her … and you will enjoy sparring with her … for like you, she is a great swordswoman …"

"And then your army will be unstoppable."

"Was that a joke, my lady?" he asked her, looking slightly startled.

"No. We of Bear Island do not make jokes," she told him, her face deadpan as she left the room. 

Jon Snow watched her leave, his heart lighter than it had been for many months. Tormund. Davos. Sansa. And now Bear Island's fierce leader. His army had grown truly formidable.


	5. Shielded by Bears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short scene prompted by the fact that Jon used a House Mormont shield to protect himself against Ramsay Bolton in the Battle for Winterfell.

"That's a House Mormont shield," Lyanna commented as she entered the large room for the council of war.

"Saved my life against Ramsay Bolton," Jon replied as he studied the very battered wooden shield that rested on the dais in the corner of the room. He could still remember the thud of each arrow sinking into the wood. "House Mormont seems to have a habit of coming to my aid when I need it most …"

Lyanna walked over to the shield and traced the outline of the black bear painted over a green wood. 

"Do you know the motto of my house?" she asked abruptly.

"Here We Stand," Jon replied promptly. Lyanna looked slightly gratified despite herself. House Mormont was an old, proud, and honourable house of the north. Although poor, its fighting men – and women – were renowned for their fighting abilities and their loyalty.

"Tell me of your mother, Lady Bear," he asked her curiously.

Lyanna shot the young man known as the White Wolf a glare but as none of the other members of his council had entered, she shrugged. "My mother answered your brother's call to arms. She and my sister Dacey ... their bannermen followed him south against the Lannisters. My mother was part of Robb Stark's war councils and my sister rode with his battle companions and guards. They were both present when Robb Stark was named King in the North at Riverrun. They were both fierce warriors."

"And now?"

"I do not know where my mother is. Or my sisters Lyra and Jory. You already know Dacey was killed during the Red Wedding ... along with most of her bannermen. My sister Alysane rode with Stannis Baratheon's army … I have not heard tell of her in many months." Lyanna's voice was calm, matter of fact but her small face was oddly forlorn, the first sign of vulnerability he had ever seen in the young leader.

"Wherever they are – I am sure that they are proud of you."

Before she could reply, the other members of Jon's council entered the room, paying obeisance to the young King in the North who stood by the long table. Sansa paused momentarily and then inclined her head coolly in Lyanna's direction as the younger girl acknowledged her gesture with a nod of her own.

"Please be seated, my lady," Jon said courteously as he drew out a chair for Lyanna. After a moment's hesitation, Sansa chose the seat beside Lyanna and there was a fleeting moment of silent solidarity between the two young girls, the only females in a room of rough bearded, Northern men.


	6. Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to have a little scene between Sansa Stark and Lyanna Mormont. Set at Winterfell sometime after the Battle for Winterfell.

Of all the rooms in Winterfell's Great Keep, Catelyn Stark's bedchambers - now Sansa's - had been the hottest. She seldom had to light a fire. The castle had been built over natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man's body, driving the chill from the stone halls, filling the glass gardens with a moist warmth, keeping the earth from freezing.

These days, Sansa's bath was always hot and steaming, and the walls of her bed chamber warm to the touch. Somewhat unnecessary as the Starks were made for the cold. Sansa had grown up with the chill of winter in her bones. Now, she sat by the fire place, stitching a new banner for Winterfell with the image of a Direwolf. The banners of House Bolton had all been burned in a bonfire along with its dead, the black smoke rising into the cold sky.

"Won't you come in and sit with me a little, my lady?" Sansa asked without glancing up from her needlework.

Standing in the doorway, her face slightly wary and uncertain was Lyanna Mormont. The little lady appeared somewhat ill at ease at Winterfell for the great keep was far grander than her own ancestral home. Dressed in her customary black gown and chain mail, she looked as grave and fierce as ever, a contrast to Sansa with her furs and silk.

"Thank you," Lyanna said briefly and came in and sat a short distance from the fire and watched Sansa's delicate stitching for a few moments. 

"Do you sew?"

Lyanna shook her head. "No. My needlework was always a disgrace … stitches uneven, cloth stained with my blood from where I pricked my finger. I'm better … much better … with a sword – or a dagger."

Sansa smiled at that, a memory flickering over her face. "My sister Arya was the same … she loved to ride her horse … to play sword fighting with the boys … but when our mother forced her to sit quietly with her needlework …" The firelight flickered over Sansa Stark's cool, elegant features, giving her face an uncharacteristic warmth.

"Were you close to your sister?" Lyanna asked her curiously, abruptly.

"I wish I could say that we were … but no … we were so very different and we fought a great deal. I wish I had been a kinder … better sister …"

Lyanna shrugged. "All sisters fight. My sister Dacey used to call me Lizard and tell me I had a face like the backside of a donkey."

"But you loved her anyway."

Lyanna nodded, lips pressed together sharply. "I loved her anyway." 

There was a long silence as their thoughts drifted to sisters far away and Sansa continued to sew, her slender, white hands delicate and strong against the thick fabric of the banner.

"Lady Sansa …"

"I'm just Sansa …"

"Your brother told me of … of things that have come to pass since you left Winterfell … " Sansa flinched visibly but said nothing. "That your road has been a hard one …the things you have seen … endured at the hands of … cruel men." Sansa swallowed hard but continued to sew, her hands trembling only slightly. "I was unkind to you when you came to Bear Island … uncivil …"

"Please – do not think upon it, my lady …it is nothing …"

"No." Lyanna's voice was very firm. "Men may be unkind to us … cruel and indifferent – but we must be better than that. Better than them. We must be kind to one another …"

Sansa put aside her sewing. Tears shone in her eyes. "You were right to doubt us, my lady. Your family has already sacrificed so much in the name of loyalty. My brother and I will be ever in your debt for your aid in our time of greatest need."

"It is my duty and my honour, my lady," Lyanna told her gravely. 

"I feel like I should be embracing you …" Sansa told her with a wry smile and Lyanna shook her head emphatically.

"My family does not embrace." Aware that her words sounded harsh, she corrected herself. "But I would be honoured to take your hand …" and with that, she reached out one small, calloused hand and gripped Sansa's hand firmly.

Bemused, Sansa clasped hands with the young lady of Bear Island in the fashion she had witnessed amongst soldiers. 

Sansa was smiling, this time a wide genuine smile. Lyanna released her hand and rose to her feet again. "I thank you for your time, Lady Sansa," she told her formally as she walked towards the door of the bed chamber.

"If you keep calling me Lady Sansa, I'll call you Lady Bear like Jon does …" Sansa teased her.

Lyanna stopped abruptly in her tracks and scowled to herself. 

"Good night, Sansa," she said deliberately and then she was gone, leaving Sansa alone with her memories and the warmth of the fire.


	7. A Bear's Counsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lady Lyanna wishes to return to Bear Island but is prevailed upon to change her mind. I have no idea as to distances/riding times between Bear Island and Winterfell. If anyone looking at [this map](http://winteriscoming.net/2015/11/10/game-of-thrones-fan-tabulates-distances-between-places-in-westeros/) can clarify for me, I'd be eternally grateful.

There was a window in the covered bridge between the armoury and the Great Keep where there was a view of the whole yard. Lyanna arrived to find Jon seated on the sill, one leg drawn up to his chin, his thick coat drawn around him and his dark hair pulled back from his face. 

He was watching the men practising their fighting moves, so absorbed that he seemed unaware of her approach until his white wolf moved to meet them. Ghost glanced her way and nudged his master.

"I needed to talk to you, my lord," she told him gravely, her breath forming a mist in the chill of the morning air as they stood on the bridge.

He smiled. "Come here, then."

Lyanna climbed up on the window and sat beside him, to a chorus of thuds and grunts from the yard below.

It was a number of the younger men from House Stark and House Cerwyn drilling. They were heavily padded, huffing and puffing and hitting at each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of their respective master-at-arms. Spectators were calling out encouragement as the combatants were staggering. 

Lyanna gave a rather disdainful snort. "Think you could do better, Lady Bear?" he asked her in amusement.

"I know I could."

"Then we shall arrange a sparring session," he promised. He grinned, reached over as if to mess up her dark hair and then stopped himself abruptly. 

"My apologies, my lady," he told her gently. "I forgot myself."

She inclined her head slightly to accept his apology and he withdrew his hand. 

"I could definitely do better than that," she remarked as one of the men whacked at the other awkwardly.

Jon looked her over. "You're too skinny, my lady," he teased her. "Doubt you could even lift a longsword, never mind swing one." His eyes danced with amusement, fully aware that not only did she know how to lift a longsword, she did it rather well. "Now how may I be of assistance to you this fine day?"

"I have been away from the Bay of Ice long enough. I need to return to Mormont Keep, my lord." Her home on Bear Island was located to the north-west of Winterfell, north of Deepwood Motte and south of the Frozen Shore. It was well over a day's hard ride from the Stark ancestral home and she had been gone some weeks now.

Jon's face grew as still as the pool at the heart of the godswood. He bent to scratch Ghost behind the ears. The white wolf rose and rubbed against him affectionately before coming over to nuzzle Lyanna and solicit pats from the young girl, pats that she gave most willingly, resting her cheek against the wolf's side as she stroked his fur.

"Already?" he asked her carefully. "I would have you stay. We're still receiving ravens from the Houses of the North … intelligence from our scouts. I have need of my council of war around me for guidance and wisdom."

"There number many in your council my lord, with experience and years far beyond my own. I would be but a raven away in any case."

"And yet I would have you stay," he told her steadily.

"Is that a command from the King in the North?" she asked him pointedly.

"Would that make you stay?" he countered.

"Yes."

He signed. "I've not the right to order you to do anything, Lady Bear … the debt owed to you is far too great for that. Consider it a heartfelt request from … a friend who needs your counsel – for a little while longer." Lyanna's brows drew together in a fierce frown, her pale little face thoughtful. 

"Ser Davos and Tormund the Wildling …"

"Neither has so fearsome a scowl that causes me to quake in my boots when I am making the wrong decision," he joked.

"I do _not_ scowl," she retorted, scowling at him ferociously from beneath her customary frowning eyebrows.

His teasing tone vanished and he grew serious again. "Things are better when you are here … my heart and mood is lighter …my thoughts are clearer …I have a greater belief that I can ... "

"I shall stay a little longer, my lord," she told him finally. 

"My sister says you have agreed to call her Sansa now. You might dispense with the formalities and call me Jon," he suggested.

Lyanna rose and gave a low and formal bow. "I will stay a little longer, my lord," she repeated.

"So stubborn for such a little bear," he murmured provocatively. 

Her eyes kindled. "I look forward to our sparring match, my lord. Bears – even small ones - can do a great deal of damage to wolves."

Despite the threat of extreme violence to his person, Jon Snow was smiling as he watched the little Lady of Bear Island walk away.


	8. Bolton's Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scribble in which I ponder the fate of Ramsay Bolton's dogs.

It always made Jon Snow smile to see little Lady Lyanna Mormont with his huge Dire Wolf Ghost. It was when she was at her most unguarded - running with the massive wolf through the halls, rolling with the wolf on the rug in the library … Ghost was at his most gentle with the young girl and it lightened the hearts of all who saw them together.

"You'll make him soft," Jon had remarked indulgently as he passed the library one day and found Lyanna feeding Ghost scraps she had begged or stolen from the kitchen. "Mind you don't overfeed him, my lady. A fat Dire Wolf will be no good to me in a fight, although I daresay his belches and farts could probably overcome any opponent, living or dead …"

That had made the Lady Lyanna burst into peals of very uncharacteristic laughter, hand clapped over her mouth as she acted just like the child she almost never was. Jon's laughter in reply was quieter, very rusty from disuse and it had made everyone pause and listen. It had been a long time since there had been laughter at Winterfell.

*

"My lord, I think there's something you should see…" Drake the kennel master told him, shifting uneasily on the spot, his voice anxious.

Perplexed Jon followed the man through the corridors of Winterfell, outside the keep into the cold of the main courtyard and down towards the kennels below ground. 

Frowning slightly, he stepped into the darkness where his nose was assaulted by the stench of mould, dampness and excrement. His nostrils twitched and he swallowed hard to resist the urge to gag.

Standing a little to the side, hidden from sight, he stared down into the kennels. Lady Lyanna was sitting on a sack that she had spread on the cold ground in front of the bars of one of the kennels. Beside her was a smaller sack filled with food scraps and she was feeding one of Ramsay Bolton's dogs through the cage door.

The huge dog was taking the food gently and the young girl was talking to her animatedly as she fed her. "I never told you before, but I had a dog when I was little," she told her with a reminiscent expression on her face. "Barthe was brave … although bravery often leads to death as Barthe took on a bear and lost …" Her small face became very sober as she recollected the fate of her beloved Barthe.

The massive dog in front of her became aware of Jon Snow's presence and clearly sensed a threat … her body language changed almost immediately, her head and shoulders dropping low to the ground, lips curling back from her bared teeth as a low rumbling growl emerged from her throat. She glared at the intruder, gaze unfriendly as a hackle formed at the back of her neck.

Growling and barking ferociously, the huge dog threw itself at the bars of the cage barking furiously, causing the bars to bend slightly with the force of the lunge. Jon rushed forward to pull Lyanna back from the cage and into the relative safety of the kennel's entrance.

"No – she won't hurt me," Lyanna protested even as the dog continued to throw itself at the bars over and over, each time, bending the bars further. More of Bolton's dogs came forward and joined the fray, the angry thud of the bitches against the bars warping the bars and putting pressure on the hinges and latch.

"It's not safe – you shouldn't be down here …" he told her fiercely, summoning Drake and a handful of his men into the kennels. They entered nervously, crossbows and spears in hand as they guessed quite accurately what would take place next.

"No! _No!_ " Lady Lyanna exclaimed in horror, staring at the weapons in their hands.

"She's been coming down and feeding them every day m'lord … in addition to their regular meals."

"I shouldn’t have let them live," Jon muttered beneath his breath. "My lady – these dogs are incredibly _dangerous_ … they've been trained to hunt humans … Ramsay Bolton used them to hunt peasant girls who he then raped, murdered and allowed his dogs to eat."

His brutal words made the young girl flinch. "It's not their fault," she protested fiercely. "They were not born this way – they were made into this…" Her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"But this is how they are now, my lady. They have killed children … they can never be allowed outside …" He swore beneath his breath. Kindness and a reluctance to kill the dogs had led to his order that the dogs continue to be kept in their cages, fed and walked on chains even though he had known from the start what inevitable fate would befall Bolton's hunting dogs. He had known what his sister had done to Ramsay Bolton ... had known of the darkness that lay within Sansa's heart and it had seemed almost wrong to kill the creatures that had served so effectively as the tool of vengeance.

"I am sorry, my lady … but they must be destroyed," he told her regretfully but firmly. A sob escaped Lady Lyanna's throat. For the first time since he had met her, she looked like a small child, her face swollen and very unlovely with tears as she wept openly. Her nose and eyes ran but she smacked away his hand when he attempted to offer her a handkerchief.

"No! If one can become evil, then one can become good again … give them a chance… please my lord … please …I beg you …"

He turned his face away, no longer able to look into her pleading face. He spoke instead to his men. "Lace their food and water with milk of the poppy … they need not suffer …" he said harshly. "My lady, you should go – there is no call for you to see this."

"It does not have to be this way," she told him fiercely. "You are punishing them for things that were not their doing. We could train them how to be different … "

"It is unfair, but for the safety of all, my lady …" He watched as the dogs were drugged with milk of the poppy … watched as their huge bodies lumbered about in their cages before collapsing to the ground in heavy heaps.

"Do it quickly," he ordered his men and held Lyanna back as she would have gone to the unconscious dogs. The dogs were dispatched swiftly, whimpers of pain breaking through even the barrier of the opiate, causing the young girl to sob even more heartbreakingly. When it was done, she pulled out of Jon's hold and dropped to her knees beside the body of each dog, putting her arms around her. "I'm sorry … you sleep now … no one will ever be cruel to you again … good girl," she murmured with a sob in her voice. 

Then, she left the kennels without a backward glance at Jon who watched her go with eyes that were shining with tears and a throat that was tight with sorrow.

*

"You were right to do it, m'lord," House Mormont's commander said soberly, as the two men stood in the doorway of the library. Ghost and Lyanna were sprawled on the rug before the fire, fast asleep. Lyanna's face was pressed against Ghost, her tears dry but her face still swollen and red. Her breath came in uneven hiccoughs. "If I'd known she were going down there each day, I'd have stopped it ... she's always had a softness for the animals m'lord – which is why she won't hunt … "

"Our lady of Bear Island has a kind heart …it does me no joy to have hurt her," Jon muttered. 

"All her life, she's been bringing wounded animals into the Keep to look after … the sick, the injured … the ones on the brink of death. All sorts – bears, wolves, birds … even bloody boars … "

"That does not surprise me."

"Even worked with some savage dogs and wolves … turned them around she did … although none of them be as far gone as Ramsay Bolton's dogs were …" the commander remarked soberly.

"Thankfully, few are …" Bending down, Jon picked up Lyanna from the ground and indicated that her commander should accompany him. In the hallway, he summoned one of the village girls who acted as one of Sansa's maids to follow them.

"It would not be seemly for me to be alone with her in her chambers," he pointed out by way of explanation and placed her light body on the bed gently and stood back, watching as the maid unlaced Lyanna's boots and tucked her into bed, still fully clothed.

He reached down to lay his hand on Ghost's soft head, feeling the wolf nuzzle at him gently with his damp nose. "Ghost … stay with her," he ordered and watched as his wolf leapt up lightly onto Lady Lyanna's bed and curled up at her feet protectively, providing her the comfort that his master could not.


	9. Weirwood and Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is finally time for Lady Lyanna to leave Winterfell

The woods around Winterfell were dark and deep. Three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years. The woods smelled of moist earth and decay. Thick black trunks crowded in tightly as its twisted and gnarled branches wove a dense canopy overhead. Like Winterfell itself, it was a place of deep silence and almost ominous shadows.

At the centre of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. Ned Stark had always called it a heart tree. The weirwood's bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red like blood. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and almost frighteningly watchful. 

During one of their many walks around Winterfell and the woods surrounding the keep, Jon had told Lyanna that the eyes carved into the heart tree were older even than Winterfell itself. He had told her that they had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone and that it had been the children of the forest who had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before the coming of the First Men across the narrow sea.

"Do you believe that?" Lyanna had asked him, a little sceptically. 

"Only telling you what I have been told," he had replied with a shrug and watched as she had stood before the eerie face and stared into its eyes intently.

Thus, Lyanna had known precisely where to find Jon when he was nowhere to be found within the keep. Beneath the weirwood, seated on a moss-covered stone, his face quiet and distant, reflected in the waters that were as black as night. He looked a little different this morning, his hair unbound and falling loose around his face in dark, heavy waves. It made him look a little dishevelled and slightly vulnerable.

Ghost stood protectively at her side as they approached Jon Snow. It had been some days since the incident in the kennels. During that time they had spoken only during council meetings, exchanged the barest of pleasantries during meals and had conducted no other conversation. It was with a pang that Jon saw that her eyes were still puffy and her face pale from crying.

"Don't think of it any further Jon," Sansa had told him when he had spoken of his guilt. "Those dogs were monsters …and when you think of all the people who have died – what are Ramsay Bolton's dogs compared to that? She's being childishly sentimental – just like Arya!"

Her words had gone nothing to alleviate his feelings of remorse – in fact, they made them rather worse. He had suddenly remembered that Sansa had never really been one for providing comfort. Sometimes he rather thought that he could see the stern, unforgiving gaze of Catelyn Stark looking out from behind Sansa's eyes.

"Just give her a puppy," Tormund had snorted when he'd heard of the incident. "Or some sweetmeats to distract her – maybe a poppet?"

"When I want your advice, I'll ask for it," Jon had told him grimly.

"Leave her be, she'll get over it in time," Davos had counselled him. "Although women can hold a grudge."

"I know a bit about that," Jon had muttered fervently beneath his breath.

Nonetheless, the Lady of Bear Island had been civil during all of the council meetings, giving her views in her customary manner, answering his questions as best she could. Though a child, she had been able to put aside her personal feelings to focus on her role as a trusted advisor.

This morning, standing in the grove with him beneath the weirwood, Lady Lyanna looked calm and quiet with no hint of reproach in her dark eyes. Dressed in her customary black gown and black coat with its furred collar, she looked neat as a pin, with not a hair out of place. Not difficult when the styling of her hair was of the plainest and her gowns were always of the most utilitarian and serviceable. Now and then she donned trousers when sparring with her commander and Jon had been reminded even more painfully of the similarities with his little sister. Light on her feet and swift, she had been fierce and very competent in combat practice and when Jon had joined the practice session, he had found himself 'dying' on more than one occasion.

Ghost stood beside her, massive and white, blending into the snowy background with only his glowing red eyes giving him away.

"He likes you better than me now," Jon told her gently, a smile curving his firm mouth.

"Not true," she replied flatly. "I expect you told him to stay with me – to cheer me up."

Jon's smile faded. "Did it work?" he asked hopefully, not denying the truth of her words. Even pleasantries and white lies that formed the basis for polite conversation were impossible around Lyanna Mormont.

She nodded. "Yes." After a moment's hesitation, she added. "Thank you."

They fell silent for a long moment and then Lyanna announced. "I came to tell you that my men and I shall be leaving shortly."

Jon flinched. "My lady – I can only say again that I am sorry and that it was necessary …"

Lyanna held up a gloved hand. "No. It is not about the dogs, my lord. You did what you thought best and I do not hold that against you."

"Then you forgive me?" he asked her urgently, extending his hand out towards her, his dark eyes hopeful.

She clasped his hand firmly and nodded. "There is nothing to forgive." She released his hand. "I've received a raven. In the last week or so, the island has suffered raids from the Ironborn." She frowned. "It has been some time since they have raided us … but I have heard talk of a Euron Greyjoy – he appears to have returned to the old ways …"

"Let me go back with you – " Jon interrupted.

She shook her head emphatically. "No, my lord. You are needed elsewhere and we on Bear Island have been defending ourselves for thousands of years even though we are mostly woodsmen, crofters and fisherfolk …. and bears." There was a flicker of a smile on her face.

"I have heard of the warrior women of Bear Island … and have seen for myself that it is no myth," he said with a crooked smile.

She nodded. "When the husbands, fathers and sons of the island were away for long periods of time on fishing boats or working in the fields, the women had to be prepared to defend ourselves from raiders. But this Euron Greyjoy troubles me – so my men and I shall return to deal with the situation and remind the Ironborn that they best look elsewhere for their spoils and plunder…"

"I will send some men with you … I won't take no for an answer on that one. Ironborn raids concern me as much as they concern you."

The expression on his face told her that there was little point arguing. Silently, they walked across the snow back to Winterfell, Jon taking smaller steps to allow Lady Lyanna to keep pace with him. 

"When shall you depart?" he asked.

"Morning after next."

"I shall order for provisions and supplies to be sent with you. I insist," he told her firmly before she could protest. "I shall also visit the first opportunity I may, for I have heard much of the beauty of Bear Island."

She smiled. "The island has old oaks, tall pines, flowering thornbushes, moss-covered grey stones, and steep hills with streams … little else. I often wonder why the raiding parties bother."

"I don't know what I shall do without my chief adviser here to provide me with counsel," he told her with great seriousness. "Who will stop me committing acts of great stupidity?"

"I'm not sure anyone can stop you from that," she remarked provocatively and he choked back a laugh. "In any case, you could simply ask yourself – what would Lady Bear do?"

"Scowl?"

Jon's response elicited an involuntary and strangled laugh from the young girl by his side. 

*

The morning of Lyanna's departure from Winterfell came too soon and most of the inhabitants of the keep (permanent and temporary) gathered in the courtyard to farewell House Mormont.

"My lord, this is far too much …" Lady Lyanna marvelled, staring at the carts full of food supplies, weapons and even cloth. "It is not necessary." Two dozen armoured men on horseback waited silently by the carts.

"Consider it a token of our gratitude – a mere fraction of what is owed," Sansa told her warmly. "I know you say you don't embrace but …" she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the young girl who stood in her arms stiffly. She gave a low laugh and pressed her lips against the younger girl's cheek. "I shall send you messages by raven and will expect prompt replies," she told Lyanna who nodded and moved away awkwardly, anxious to break contact.

Lyanna clasped hands briefly with Ser Davos who bowed low. "It has been an honour to serve with you my lady. I hope to see you again shortly."

"Thank you, Ser Davos of House Seaworth," she replied, bowing politely.

Finally, it was time to bid farewell to Jon Snow himself. It was a strange situation for Lyanna – she who was so accustomed to being the person left behind. This was the first time that she was the leave-taker and it occurred to her that it was as painful and difficult as being left behind.

"My lord, I bid you farewell and thank you for your gracious hospitality at Winterfell. I wish you well in your efforts to continue to rally the Houses of the North. House Mormont remains ready to stand beside House Stark and – "

"Thank you Lady Bear, for _everything_ you have done …" Jon told her warmly, his voice trembling with emotion as he took her hand in his. He dropped to the ground on one knee respectfully, despite muffled gasps of horror at the King in the North bending his knee to a relatively lowly vassal. "I can never repay the debt. Have you need of my aid, you need only ask."

Lady Lyanna's mouth trembled slightly, for once at a loss for words.

"Our ravens shall know the route between Bear Island and Winterfell so well they will be able to fly it at darkest night or even blindfolded," he teased her as he rose to his feet. "Will you allow me the honour, my lady?" he asked her, gesturing towards her horse. She nodded and Jon Snow helped the Lady of Bear Island up onto her horse.

"Keep her safe," he ordered his men and the group set off at a gallop.

"I am sad to see her go," Sansa commented and there was sincerity in her voice.

"We'd not have turned the tide without her, that's for sure," Ser Davos agreed, admiration in his voice as he watched the riders disappear into the distance.

"Close the gates," was all Jon said expressionlessly, his eyes shuttered and bleak.

*

"My lady, it is wonderful to have you back," Mara exclaimed in delight.

"It is good to be back," Lyanna murmured tiredly.

"A raven from Winterfell arrived for you, my lady," Mara informed her as she helped her lady remove her coat and boots.

"Already?" With a frown, she picked up the rolled note that Mara had indicated and opened it. She knew the handwriting well, bold and full of character.

_Lady Bear. I trust your journey home was uneventful. Did I not promise you that the ravens would become familiar with the path between Bear Island and Winterfell? I thought it best to start their training immediately. I knew you would decline, so I have taken the liberty of including one small gift in the cart inside the small red sack."_

Walking to the large entrance hall of the keep, she asked one of her men to find and bring her the red sack referred to in Jon Snow's note. 

Sitting on the rug of her bedchamber, legs curled up beneath her she tipped the contents of the sack onto the rug. Black, gleaming daggers of what looked like stone spilled with a clatter onto the thick rug. 

She continued reading the note.

_Dragonglass is one of the few weaknesses of the White Walkers. They will die almost instantaneously when pierced with a blade made of dragonglass. The smallfolk like to say that dragonglass is made by dragons while Maesters say it comes from the fires of the earth. I pray that these blades will help keep you and your people safe._

_Please provide me with news of the Ironborn and if I may be of any assistance._

_I hope to see you again soon, Lady Bear, my sister sends her love and informs me that she intends to visit you soon. I remain your humble servant always, Jon Snow._

One of the daggers was small and delicate enough that it had been fashioned into a pendant that could be worn on a leather loop around her throat. A utilitarian gift with life-saving powers. 

*

"A raven, arrived from Bear Island for you my lord," Kerlick, the maester announced. Jon found himself smiling, which startled the maester for in his recollection, he had never seen his dour lord smile before.

"Thank you, Kerlick," Jon said politely as he took the note from the old man. As he unrolled it, a small, fragrant dried flower fell onto his lap, filling the air with a light, almost pine-like fragrance.

_Thank you my lord for your kind gifts. We have arrived safely back at Mormont Keep. A small ship of Ironborn attempted a raid the day before last, but were deterred by our fighters. We left enough alive to return to the Iron Isles and remind them to stop provoking the bear. Our hope is that they are only motley raiders – raggle taggle thieves and bandits and not part of a greater design. I have nothing so precious as dragonglass to offer you. Instead, here is a dried wild flower of the forest. We of Bear Island believe that that the Night Flower helps us to have a peaceful sleep even when we are at our most troubled._

_Lyanna Mormont._

With a soft almost sad smile, he placed the dry flower beside his pillow. If Arya was here, he had had no doubt that his fierce little sister and the prickly little lady of Bear Island would have been dear friends …


	10. Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scribble ended up being longer than the others in the set for - reasons. I just love the character of Arya so much and I'm so worried that the books/show will just hand wave away the things she has done and the effect it will have had on her as a person.
> 
> Hope everyone is enjoying this fic. Let me know what you liked - or even what you didn't like. Happy to try to fix anything I can :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this quote:
> 
>  _Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell’s grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan’s stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow’s smile. He used to mess my hair and call me “little sister,” she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes._  
>  ― George R.R. Martin, A Feast for Crows

Arya Stark's screams at night seemed to be growing louder, if that was possible.

"My lady, should I dose her with the milk of the poppy?" Mara asked her.

"No, that seems to make the nightmares even worse…" Lyanna murmured, drawing her night gown around her thin body and walking down the corridor of the keep to the room she had given Arya Stark – Dacey's old room. Lyanna still slept in the small, Spartan bed chamber she'd had since she was a child, it hadn't felt right to move – that would have been like admitting that Maege and the rest of her family would never return. Some days, she missed Dacey so much it hurt like a physical pain… Dacey the lanky six-footer who had been given a morningstar at an age when most girls were given dolls… Dacey who had carried her about as a small child, high on her shoulders and made her laugh. Dacey who would smuggle sweetmeats to her baby sister despite their mother's orders not to spoil the child …

"My lady," Orlif nodded at her, the tall stalwart man standing outside Arya Stark's bed chamber was young and strong, deeply tanned with thick brown hair streaked with gold. His dark eyes rested on his lady before he warned her,"I don't think it's safe to go in - she tried to stick me with her sword again when I went in earlier …" Lyanna's eye went to the bloodstained bandage high on Orlif's left arm.

"Maester's already looked at it," he reassured her with a crooked grin.

"I'll be all right," she told him as she entered the room. "I'll keep my distance. She's just having nightmares."

She entered the darkness of the room where Arya Stark was tossing and turning on the bed. Her heart twisted momentarily. It still smelled of Dacey … of leather, oil and forest flowers. 

"Arya," she said softly, careful to maintain a safe distance. She knew better than to try to awaken such a traumatised soul by touch. Arya's hand flew to Needle and it snapped out like a viper's tongue. "Who's there? Don't you come any closer…"

"Put Needle down, Arya. My name is Lyanna. I'm a friend of Sansa and a friend of Jon's. You're safe here… you are on Bear Island."

Arya put Needle down by her side on the bed and whimpered slightly, still only half-awake. "Bear Island?" she asked, very confused.

"Yes ... and it won't surprise you to know that there are still bears here. I shall show you some bears if you like …"

Lyanna pulled up a chair and sat near Arya Stark's bed and continued speaking to her until the girl drifted off to sleep. 

*

Jon Snow had not been lying to her about the matter of ravens. There had been a steady flow of ravens flying between Mormont Keep and Winterfell in the days following Lady Lyanna's departure from Winterfell.

The ravens came from other locations, too for as part of his newfound duties, Jon and his lords would travel to the various Houses of the North to treat, marshal support and plan. That being said, many of the ravens to her did not relate to anything even slightly related to military or strategic matters. As time passed they took on an almost conversational tone as he asked after her health, told her about his days - asked about her days.

He and Sansa visited with semi-regularity, bringing food and supplies from Winterfell. It had been slightly exciting to receive gifts from Winterfell on her Nameday. Richly brocaded banners stitched by Lady Sansa herself with the sigil of House Mormont, new riding gloves of leather from Jon and an ancient compass from Braavos that he said he had found at a marketplace.

When he arrived several days earlier, however, there had been no advance warning of his arrival, merely the urgent clattering of hooves in the courtyard and heavy footsteps. She had emerged to stare blankly at the man in the entrance of Mormont Keep who held what looked like an unconscious body, slumped in his arms and Ghost at his side.

"My lord?" she had asked him. He looked drained and exhausted. She had never seen him look like this, even after a battle.

"Lady Lyanna, meet my sister – Arya Stark," he said holding her forward with a look of helplessness and defeat in his dark eyes.

She had shown him to a bed chamber where he had put his sister's unconscious body down gently and in a voice mixed with joy and grief, he explained that quite amazingly, Arya Stark had found her way back to Winterfell some days earlier.

"At first Sansa and I were naturally both overjoyed… but then we realised that she was quite different …"

"Why is that strange? How old was she when she saw your father being beheaded? 9 or 10? When she was cast out into the world to fend for herself? The same? The life we are given changes us, my lord …"

"It's not just a matter of having grown up my lady … she's killed people … and not just to defend herself… she's become an assassin …a murderer …"

In a low voice he told her of all he had learned. Arya had been very open about her kills, reciting her kill list calmly, telling of whose name had been crossed off, who had been denied to her and who remained. 

"When we tried to stop her going after the next person on her list … she went wild … it was difficult to subdue her without hurting her. Being at Winterfell seems to make it worse … so I brought her here …she can't stay with me right now as I am due to ride to Riverrun …"

"To speak with the Freys?" Lady Lyanna demanded, a little aghast.

Jon looked up at her, his dark eyes haunted. "Yes, an opportunity has presented itself to perhaps re-take Riverrun from the Lannisters … it would appear that my sister Arya murdered Lame Lothar Frey and Black Walder Rivers and then served them to their father Walder – baked in a pie … before proceeding to cut _his_ throat."

Lady Lyanna flinched, staring down at Arya, unable to believe that such a small and delicate person could have done such a thing.

"Riverrun is in state of chaos now … Lady Brienne is on her way now as we speak as we have no doubt that Ser Jaime will be dispatched there by his sister." He swallowed hard. "You will see now why I cannot bring her with me to Riverrun … and I cannot leave her at Winterfell where I fear some may try to put her down like a dog gone bad …but here … " His voice trembled.

_If one can become evil, then one can become good again …_

"She can stay here. Of course she can," Lady Lyanna told him firmly. "Lady Arya Stark is most welcome at House Mormont."

"No my lady, this is not me imposing lordly privilege upon you … this is a favour I ask of you. One that you are free to decline."

"I would not do that. She is clearly troubled … perhaps we can help her here," Lyanna commented, coming forward and staring at Arya's pale face. "It's not an easy life on this island. There are many who have grown up with the fear of being attacked, killed by the Kraken beneath the waters… by the wildlings … many of our people are battle scarred and tormented.

Arya murmured restlessly, her eyes opening and staring at her sightlessly for a moment before closing.

"She has been through a great deal … she has told me everything," he told her. 

"Go to Riverrun my lord, leave Lady Stark with me …"

"She will probably try to murder you and your men for trying to stop her on her mission."

"She can try. Now take some refreshment and rest a little before you ride to Riverrun …"

Some of the greyness had left Jon Snow's face and his shoulders relaxed visibly. He allowed himself to sit down at the table in the corner of the room while Lyanna gave orders for food and drink to be brought in the room.

She sat across from him as he tore at the bread with his teeth and drank deeply from the tankard filled with cold water. "Water not ale, my lord. I know your views on the ale of Bear Island," she said with a smile.

Jon looked a bit ashamed. In a fit of candour, he had once described the ale on the island as being on par with that brewed by the brothers of the Night's Watch – akin to pigs piss.

She told him of news from Bear Island, small matters to entertain and distract him rather than concern him. By the end he was almost smiling.

"Seems like you have all things well in hand, my lady … I fear your vast talents are somewhat wasted here." He rose to his feet and she frowned deeply.

"I could have a bedchamber made up for you if you wished to rest overnight. It is a long ride to Riverrun."

"No, I must ride to Riverrun as soon as I can to join the others… " he went to stand beside Arya's bed, putting Needle out of her reach before bending over her and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll be back soon, I promise, Arya. You'll be safe here …" Touching her cheek with light fingertips his eyes were shining with tears.

"I'll look after her," Lyanna promised.

"I know you will," he said huskily. "It's why I brought her here." Then he was gone.

*

"What am I supposed to be doing?" Arya demanded, scowling a little at the unattractive but serviceable heavy sacking she wore and the tightly woven boots on her legs that were to keep her feet dry from the cold, sea water. Her face was pale, her huge light eyes looked positively enormous in her gaunt face and her hair was in braids.

"We're working with fish today, my lady," a similarly garbed Lyanna told her with a brief smile. The two girls waited along the shore for the fisher folk to bring in their catch and then joined the group to clean the fish, removing the guts and gills, rinsing the fish in the water. Then they de-scaled the fish with sharp little knives made just for that purpose. "No ideas now," Lyanna warned her, nodding at the knife in Arya's hand.

After the fish were de-scaled, they packed the fish in layers of salt in buckets – first a layer of salt on the bottom of the bucket, then the fish were laid flesh side up on the salt, then coarse sea salt sprinkled liberally over it, and then another fish and then more salt.

After that task was completed, they began the work of drying the fish that had already been preserved in brine some time earlier, spreading the fish out where they could be dried by the air – without being eaten by animals. It was hard and very heavy work, carrying basket after basket of salt and fish. Arya, to her credit worked without complaint, a look of profound concentration on her face as she worked alongside the fisherfolk of Bear Island as though she was one of them.

By the evening, both girls were exhausted. "Orlif will wait outside your room while you bathe. Please try not to kill him or injure him again. He's a good man. Has a wife, two daughters. His father was killed at the Red Wedding," Lady Lyanna told Arya quietly. Arya's eyes widened and she stared at Orlif with remorse in her eyes.

"It's all right, Lady Arya. Don’t mind me," he said with a grin, indicating the snow white bandage. "I heal fast." 

Arya ate silently at the dinner table, ravenously and swiftly. She glanced around the room. It was smaller and shabbier than the Hall of Winterfell. House Mormont was one of the lesser Houses of the North, not propped up by treasures and the spoils of war. Along the wood panelling, the only decorations were shields with House Mormont's sigil … and two banners with the black bear embroidered on them.

"Your sister Sansa made us those for my Nameday," Lyanna remarked warmly, indicating the banners with a slight inclination of her head. "She made those after she made the new banners for Winterfell which you might have seen already."

"Where's my brother?" Arya demanded baldly.

"He's an urgent errand to run – and will be back shortly," was all Lyanna would tell her.

When the screaming started that night, Lady Lyanna was ready and was already sitting by Arya's bedside. 

"What are those?" Arya demanded suspiciously as Lyanna began scattering dried petals around her pillow.

"Dried night flowers from the woods – they'll help you sleep better, Lady Arya," Lyanna told her calmly. Then she started recounting another tale of Bear Island – one that involved a battle between the Ironborn and the Islanders. Arya, exhausted from the days hard work did not take long to fall into sleep. 

*

"We're gathering flowers today?" Arya asked in perplexity as she looked at the basket in her hands.

"No, we're collecting ingredients for poultices and tinctures," Lady Lyanna corrected her. "My people's hands are constantly being cut and injured from their work. Our life here on the island is hard … … hands become chapped … wounds become infected … my maester creates ointments that soothe such injuries – but he needs the ingredients."

"So we're picking flowers," Arya repeated but she was more compliant as they gathered roots, leaves and buds from the rich and lush forests on Bear Island, collecting mosses from stream beds and flowers that tangled around the bases of canopy trees. Lyanna used a knife to strip bark from the willow while Arya plucked wild calendula.

The girls spent the day in the forest, Orlif brought them a packed lunch to eat and they leaned against the mossy trunk of a tree to eat their crusts of bread with rich cheese, chewing on the salted fish.

"This is the same as what we helped make yesterday?" Arya asked as she swallowed a fish, allowing her mouth to savour the sharp, salt brine of the meat and the way it interacted with the bread and the cheese.

"Yes… it will keep us strong for the work we have to do."

They returned to the Keep and joined the sword fighting classes being conducted by Lyanna's commander for all who wished to learn – men, women and children. At first, Arya hesitated, her hands tingling at the feel of cold steel in them once more but as she glanced around at the women and children, heard their laughter and heard the clang of steel as some of the younger ones fought awkwardly, she relaxed. The training was genuine and in earnest, but there was a certain lightness and enjoyment in the students.

"Ah, the miss is light on her feet," the commander praised her and Arya flushed with gratification. It felt like some time since she had been given any form of praise.

He worked them hard and it was well after dark before the clash of steel ceased. 

"You train everyone?" Arya asked as she stretched her tired muscles and felt the limpness of her exhausted body.

Lyanna's little face grew very serious. "We have become what we have been made. On Bear Island every child learns to fear krakens rising from the sea," reminding Arya of the tale the younger girl had recounted to her the night earlier.

Orlif fell into step beside Arya, he had trained alongside them, guiding the little ones but also receiving his own training. He had appeared to enjoy the light-hearted combat activities but now returned to his watch duties. 

"I promised him I wouldn't poke him with my sword again," Arya told Lyanna.

"I'm glad to hear of it," Lyanna replied.

*

The screaming at night stopped after two weeks of intense, almost back-breaking physical exertion during the day. Arya thrived at the archery classes to the point that she was invited to help lead one of the classes for the children, the horse-riding, the sword fighting … she endured the fishing, the wood cutting and the hay baling under sufferance but did as told.

"You're not going to try to stop me from leaving the island?" Arya demanded one morning as the two girls scrambled from branch to branch in an orchard picking apples. 

"You are free to leave whenever you want … although I would prefer it if you'd stay. Your brother asked me to look after you ..."

"You're one year younger than I am," Arya said accusingly.

"You of all people should know that age has little relevance to wisdom." Lyanna scrambled down the tree and brushed down the plain brown trousers she wore. She took a bite out of the apple she held. "The people on your list can wait – you need to rest and recuperate. I saw the injuries on your body – you've been stabbed … beaten … starved …"

Arya slid down her tree and took Lyanna's apple from her and continued eating it companionably, like the two children they were. 

"Besides … Jon Snow is trying to rally an army to fight for the existence of all men and women … at this point he has no care for the petty power squabbles of Westeros …he could use your support … "

That gave Arya pause. "I have been away too long. You need to tell me more of this …"

*

"Did my brother tell you what I did?" Arya asked one night as the two girls sat at supper, the tallow candle light flickering on the large wooden table. 

"He did."

"And yet you still let me stay."

"I lost two loved ones in recent times, my lady," Lyanna told her quietly as she carved a piece of meat with her knife. "I have no love for the Freys."

"But would you kill them and bake them into a pie and serve them to their father?" Arya demanded defiantly, her eyes challenging.

Lyanna lay down her knife and shook her head. "I am no great cook, my lady. My talents have never been that way inclined."

Arya rolled her eyes at her. "You're not going to judge me? Call me a murderer?"

"I would not have done it, my lady," she said quietly. "But I have no doubt you did what you felt was right."

Arya's face twisted for a moment. "I killed a man named Polliver once … he killed my friend Lommy – did all sorts of terrible things … and a man named Rorge who wanted to rape me … and a man named Meryn Trant – he killed my dancing master … he liked to hurt little girls … but I made him suffer. I was glad he suffered."

Lady Lyanna listened quietly. She poured water into her tankard. 

"Aren't you going to say something? Aren't you going to call me a monster?" There was a sob in her voice?" Arya's voice became very loud, very shrill as her hand tightened on her knife. Orlif took a step forward but Lyanna held up a hand to stop him.

"When I first met your sister Sansa, I was not very kind to her … I asked her if she was a Bolton or a Lannister. She told me that she had done what she had to do to survive, but that she was a Stark and would always be a Stark."

"But what does that mean? To be a Stark?" Arya demanded of her. "To be cut down … slaughtered by others because we do the right thing?" Lady Lyanna remained silent. "Have you ever killed anyone?" Arya demanded.

Lyanna nodded. "During the occasional defence of the island… and I have banished people from the island, knowing that they most likely went to their deaths …"

"But you have never attacked anyone, you've never murdered anyone."

"I hope that I may only ever need to kill to defend … but in these times, that may be considered a luxury, my lady."

Her calm matter of fact tone seemed oddly soothing. "Jon didn't know what to do with me … he acted like it was all his fault – as though I were something broken that he had to fix … and Sansa told him that I'd always had the devil in me … they fought …" she dashed angry tears from her eyes.

Lyanna reached out and took the knife from Arya's tight fingers, buttered a piece of bread for her and handed it back to the girl who took a bite obediently and swallowed.

"I think that you are Arya Stark and that you are a good person who has had to do terrible things to survive but that you are still Arya Stark."

"And?"

"And perhaps I shan't have you assigned any kitchen duties while you are here, Lady Arya."

That elicited a shocked laugh from Arya. "I didn't really bake his sons into the pie … I killed them yes … but I just chopped off their fingers and thumbs and threw them in a pie that was already baked and in the kitchen …"

Her voice was sanguine but her fingers went to her forehead as she remembered the screams … the terror in the eyes of the two Frey men … the look in Walder Frey's eyes and how his body had felt as the life had let him. Her hands started to tremble as her voice became high pitched.

Lady Lyanna stared down at her plate. "There were very few survivors from the Red Wedding, Lady Arya … But I was told by one … sympathiser in the Frey household … that Ser Benfrey seized my sister by the arm … that she grabbed up a flagon of wine with her other hand, smashed it full in his face, and ran for the door." A look of pride crossed Lyanna's face at her sister's fierce bravery. "When the doors opened, Ser Ryman Frey and a dozen Frey men-at-arms armed with heavy longaxes entered the room … Ser Ryman buried the head of his axe in my sister's stomach … As with most of the victims of the Red Wedding, no body was returned to us to bury. "

Arya lowered her head, tears prickling at her eyes. "Orlif, I think I should like to go to my room now," she whispered to the tall Bear Islander who came forward and helped her out of her chair.

That night, there were no screams, but the Lady Arya wept into her pillow silently while Orlif stood watched outside.

In her own room, Lyanna clutched a crumpled portrait in her hands of Dacey … so fierce and proud. She fell asleep dry-eyed but her throat was tight with unshed tears.

*

They ate their breakfast quietly that morning. "I wish you would call me Arya," Arya said abruptly. "I'm tired of being No One or Lady Arya or … boy … just to hear my own name again would be .. nice …"

"Could you please pass me the butter, Arya?" Lyanna asked her politely.

"It would be my pleasure, Lyanna," Arya replied, handing her the butter and both girls smiled at one another.

*

When Jon returned to Bear Island, he happened upon them during sword training. Dismounting from his horse, he led his horse through the gate towards the keep, passing by the carving of a woman in a bearskin with a child in one arm suckling at her breast and a battleaxe in the other. 

Lyanna looked like a miniature fighting man - dressed as she was in mail and leather, with the black bear of House Mormont on shield and surcoat. It was queer garb for a lady, yet Lyanna seemed very comfortable in the apparel as both a warrior and as a girl, for she had been raised in a long line of women warriors.

To his astonishment, so was his sister Arya and the two of them were engaged in fairly vigorous combat, wooden swords clashing and flying through the air with considerable prowess and skill. They were being watched by several dozen spectators.

"Faster, Lady Mormont … faster – remember what I done told you about moving to the side …" her commander ordered her.

There was a look of fierce determination on her face as she ducked low as Arya's sword swung high above her head and she darted from side to side with lithe grace that was as impressive as the intensity of the fight was terrifying.

A tie was called and the two girls breathed breathlessly, embracing one another affectionately as they ceased combat.

"Well this is a surprise," Jon remarked and the two faces looked up at him in astonishment. 

"Jon!" Arya shrieked, dropping her sword to the ground and running towards him. She threw herself up into his arms with hoyden-like glee and he closed his eyes and gripped her tight as he realised that Arya was Arya once more.

"Are you all right, little sister?" he asked her searchingly, dark eyes staring down into her face.

"No… not at all really – but I'm much better than I was," she told him honestly and seriously. She gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Care for another round, Lady Lyanna?" Jon teased as he approached Lyanna who was about to hand her commander her wooden sword.

"You are going to regret saying that, my lord …."

*

"Y'didn't have to hit me so very hard," Jon muttered, rubbing his arm ruefully. "I know what I shan't be givin' you for your next Nameday – a real sword."

"Not much you can do with a wooden sword except bash your opponent with it. Besides, you got a few good blows in yourself."

"You're faster … even though I notice you've stolen a couple of my fighting techniques."

Lyanna snorted. "I think you're giving yourself far too much credit my lord." Quite a crowd had gathered to watch the Lady of Bear Island and the Lord of Winterfell sparring. He had the advantage of strength and stamina, but she was quicker and also had the benefit of being under-estimated, by her opponent, although her cocky opponent's indulgent smile had vanished quite swiftly the first time she had put her leg up, pressed it against his leather covered chest and kicked him to the ground unceremoniously.

They watched Arya playing with the young children in the courtyard who were shrieking with laughter.

"Thank you for what you've done for her …"

"I did nothing… just gave her a safe place to heal herself."

"She tells me she would stay with you awhile longer. She tells me she's not ready for the ghosts of Winterfell quite yet."

"She is welcome to stay here for as long as she likes. I have enjoyed her company." There was an uncharacteristically warm smile on Lyanna's face and Jon looked at her sharply.

"Are you lonely, Lady Bear?"

"Course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Now tell me of Riverrun."

"It has declared its support to House Stark … "

"And Jaime Lannister?"

"Has returned to Kings Landing to tell his sister of this fact."

Lyanna's left eyebrow rose. "How many died in the battle?"

"None. Lady Brienne helped us persuade Ser Jaime of our cause."

"And he believed you? I find that surprising."

"He'd never believe me … a bastard from the North … but he has history with her - trusts her with his life. She swore to the truth of my words."

"Things are not likely to end well when his sister finds out that he has not obeyed her orders."

"Thus, Lady Brienne accompanies him on the return to Kings Landing."

"To kill Cersei or to protect him?"

"The latter … he wishes to attempt to reason with his sister … although we all know what will come of that."

"Well I wish them both well …we probably don’t need to tell Arya at this stage that you've formed an unofficial ... understanding with Jaime Lannister…"

"Agreed," he muttered fervently as a flush-faced Arya came up and linked arms with Lyanna and walked with them into Mormont Keep.

"My lord, this is Orlif," Lyanna introduced him to the tall pleasant-faced young man.

"I stabbed him with Needle," Arya confessed, shame-facedly.

"My apologies, sir," Jon told him fervently.

"Pay it no mind, sir. I've got wild younger sisters of my own and on Bear Island we men are accustomed to stab wounds from the women-folk," he replied so blandly that he might have been jesting or he might have been entirely in earnest.

"Will you stay with us a little?" Arya asked him.

Jon smiled, tousling his younger sister's hair with an expression that was tinged with both sorrow and joy. "If the Lady Lyanna will suffer my presence for a few days."

"Mara's already arranged for a bed chamber to be made up for you, my lord."

Jon allowed himself to be ushered through the entrance of Mormont Keep. Of late, the almost shabby keep had become something of a second home for him - a strange feeling for a bastard boy who had never really had a home of his own.


	11. Ravens, Valyrian Steel and Charms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a scribble because I can't stop thinking about Valyrian steel and how important it must be in the fight against the Night King.
> 
> Also, it's kind of like Game of Thrones' equivalent of mithril...
> 
> I have a few small ideas for some scribbles but will probably be done soon, unless people have prompts. Thanks for reading. Glad people are still enjoying.

_Sam – we have need of more Valyrian steel. Are there no records at the Citadel that can assist us? You more than any know of how desperate our need is. I already have people scouring the North for any cache of dragonglass but do not know how to find more Valyrian steel.  
\- Jon Snow_

*

_Honoured to receive a raven from not only the Lord of Winterfell but the King in the North himself. Yes word travels fast._

_I've turned my mind to your question as you've asked. Valyrian steel was invented in Valyria, and was used to make weapons and various other items of unparalleled quality. They say that magic and spells played a role in its forging, which makes the steel special and gives it magical characteristics. The records say that Valyrian steel was possibly forged with dragon and manufactured in the Valyrian Freehold of old. Valyrian steel blades are lighter, stronger, and sharper than even the best castle-forged steel. The blades feature distinctive rippled patterns, the mark of steel that has been folded back on itself many thousands of times._

Jon restrained the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. He could almost hear Sam's voice as he disgorged his learning onto the page. "I don't need a treatise on the subject. Just get to the point, Sam," he muttered.

_Did you know that even suits of armour could also be fashioned of Valyrian steel, and would have been worth a kingdom even before the Doom?_

"I do now, thank you Sam."

_Alas, according to the records, no one in Westeros possessed such armour. In terms of weapons, there may be thousands of Valyrian steel blades remaining in the world, but in Westeros there are only 227 such weapons according to Archmaester Thurgood's Inventories, some of which have since been lost or have disappeared from recorded history. Most Valyrian steel blades in Westeros are treasured heirlooms of noble houses, each with its own name and storied history, and even impoverished lesser houses are unwilling to give them up. Suggest you tell everyone to start looking through their cupboards and even among the departed ..._

Following receipt of the information from Sam, Jon issued ravens to all the Houses of the North – both great and minor. Search your coffers, old cupboards, marketplaces – even search the graves of your dead for many would have had their swords buried with them. He ordered the houses to search for caches of dragonglass and also to find any Valyrian blades that had been lost through the years. He also sent a raven to King's Landing to Jaime Lannister to prevail upon him to make similar inquiries in the South.

*

"Jon!" Arya shrieked in delight as her brother rode through the gates, his boots splashed with mud. House Glover was going to be displeased with him again for once again riding past Deepwood Motte without stopping, but time was short. 

Lyanna had known he was coming, her sentries had informed her of Jon Snow's approach before he had crossed the bridge to Bear Island from the wharf but she had kept it a secret from Arya so that she might have the pleasure of being surprised by the arrival of her beloved brother.

"Not staying… I've urgent business back at Winterfell," he said apologetically. "So no need to prepare a room."

"Your messages worked?" Lyanna asked curiously.

"We were able to uncover a great many blades in the North and in the South - most families will want to retain what they have found, but some of them belonged to no one so have been donated to our cause."

Out of the precious cache, Jon had commissioned chain mail to be fashioned from Valyrian steel for his sisters and for Lady Lyanna Mormont. Light and delicate, the mail seemed a thing of beauty rather than protective clothing for a military confrontation.

He'd also had a blade belonging to a long lost House reforged into two blades. Lighter blades that could be carried by Arya and Lyanna, although Arya professed herself sad to give up Needle.

"Needle will only help you against the living, little sister – not the dead," he told her gently, tousling her hair as she stared down at her new sword.

She nodded.

"Do you like it?" he asked Lyanna who tested the balance of her sword, listening to the sound of it as it cut through the air. He admired her careful footwork and the swiftness with which she spun around, the blade in place.

"I like it very well," she told him. "Does this mean that I may be permitted to ride with you and your men in the battle against the Night King, my lord?" she asked.

"No, that's not what it means," Jon said flatly, his dark eyes grim. "It's to protect you in case the army of the dead come this far south."

"Was your brother always so domineering, Arya?" Lyanna asked her dear friend who grinned.

"No, not at all. The power must have quite gone to his head," Arya teased Jon wickedly.

"And isn't it about time you called me Jon instead of 'my lord' all the time?" he demanded with exasperation at her stubborn insistence on always referring to him formally.

"Is that a command, my lord?" Lyanna asked provocatively as Arya covered her mouth and gave a chuckle of laughter. Jon snorted.

"All right, I will take my leave of you two undeserving hellions and be on my way." He hugged Arya affectionately and clasped hands warmly with Lady Lyanna.

"Thank you again for my sword, my lord. It is most appreciated," she told him earnestly.

"Maybe you'll be nicer to me next time," he teased as he swung himself back into his horse and rode out the gates.

"I'd need a full suit of armour made of Valyrian steel for that …!" she called out after him.

"I'll try to keep that in mind, Lady Bear."

*

"We may reach the point when we have a blade of dragonglass for every fighting man, but we certainly won't have enough blades of Valyrian steel for everyone even if we do melt down some of the blades and divide them in two. We need more weapons …" Ser Davos' voice was low and urgent.

"If the Night King has found the Horn of Winter, dragonglass won't be enough…" Tormund muttered grimly.

"Can someone please explain to me what this Horn of Winter is?" Lord Manderly asked in a pained voice. Tormund looked at Ser Davos who exhaled.

"It's also called the Horn of Joramun, my lord. The stories say that it has magical qualities and when blown, can bring down the Wall." He glanced over at Tormund who shrugged.

"Mance Rayder looked for it … we never found it even though we dug up many graves looking for it."

"The much more frightening thought is that the Horn of Winter is still out there, buried somewhere north of The Wall…." Jon said moodily. "If the Wall falls, night falls as well, the long night that never ends," Jon told the group, unconsciously quoting the words of Melisandre. His gaze fell upon Lyanna who sat the table with the other advisors on his council, clearly deep in thought. 

She and Arya had ridden in to Winterfell earlier that morning following a summons some days earlier by raven. Arya was with Sansa somewhere else in the keep and Lyanna had been sitting with the other Northern lords in the Great Hall since then.

As the council meeting drew to a close and some of the lords began to drift to other parts of the Keep to confer, the maester entered the room. "My lord, a raven has arrived for you from Lord Commander Tollett." Jon thanked his maester and unrolled the note, a look of shock on his face.

"What's wrong?" Lyanna asked him.

"Bran. Edd says that they have found Bran … he's _alive_ …." his voice was shaking and his eyes were shining with unshed tears. "We were so very sure that he were dead…"

"Then we must go and fetch him now. Where is he?"

"On the other side of the Wall …" Jon muttered. "And he cannot cross."

_"What?"_

"According to what Edd says, the Night King has marked him … the mark not only allows the Night King to locate him…. it neutralises magic wards which bar the Walkers and their minions … he's afraid that if he crosses the wall, this will open the floodgates."

Lyanna sank down onto a chair and exhaled deeply. With the news of the Horn of Winter and now this … the information was bordering on overwhelming.

"Well let us go to him, then...we can't just leave him … "

"Edd says that they are moving him and his companion by horseback every day to a different section outside of the Wall. Bran seems to think that it takes at least a day for the Night King to locate him … so the Nights Watch are moving him constantly …"

"That's not what I would consider a permanent solution."

"D'you think I don't know that?" Jon demanded urgently, his brows frowning. He ran a distracted hand through his dark hair.

"I think your maester friend Sam needs to come back from the Citadel and bring with him everything he can find on Valyrian steel, the White Walkers, the charms that have kept them back from the Wall and work with my maester and your maester …"

"What?"

"By all accounts, the men of the Night's Watch have defended the Wall against the White Walkers and other monsters for eight thousand years since the end of the Long Night. _All_ of the ancient spells and sorcery cannot have been lost …"

"It's been a very, very long time, my lady… unless you are able to locate Brandon the Builder or any of the children of the forest – I don’t think we shall have much luck."

"Bring your friend Sam back … I can promise him and his beloved a cottage on Bear Island – reinforced with stone so that his books and parchments will be safe from fire … he can try to think upon a solution while we ride North to your brother."

Jon glared at her. "There is no _we_ ," he told her. " _I_ will go to him - you will stay here."

"I'm coming, too," she insisted. "Besides, I'm sure I distinctly heard you say during one of our council meetings that we had to catch a White Walker?"

"That's not what I said, I said – "

"You said that it would be much easier to persuade people to answer the call if we had a White Walker or a wight to prove to people that we weren't just talking of children's stories and shadows…"

"I don't know how we would keep one if we caught it… what if a cage of Valyrian steel causes it to explode into a thousand pieces?"

"Summon your friend Sam – this may be added to his list of problems to resolve for us," Lyanna told him deliberately. "I will send a raven back to Bear Island and have arrangements made for the cottage …. Arya can rule while I am away … as for Winterfell – perhaps Lord Manderly and Sansa?"

She turned around to find Jon looking at her, a reluctantly amused smile on his face. "Any more instructions for me my Lady Bear?" he asked her.

"Yes – call your sisters. They need to hear that their brother is alive." 

He bowed low. "I fear nothing in this world so much as the thought of your disapproval, my lady," he murmured, his full mouth curved beneath the darkness of his beard.


	12. North of the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title says it all. Lady Lyanna accompanies Jon Snow to north of the Wall to meet with his brother Bran.
> 
> I wrote this a long time before episode 7.05 Eastwatch in which they come up with the idea to capture a White Walker! :D

Lyanna shivered. Jon had warned her that this far North, the chill would enter deep into her bones and cause an almost unbearable ache… that she would forget what it had ever been like to be warm. He'd told her of grizzled, hardened rangers who had lost body parts to the cold … fallen asleep and slipped into death. 

She'd laughed off his warnings at the time – Bear Island was cold in the winters, she was a girl of the North and she'd been born for coldness.

Not like this though.

The cold prickled like needles across her skin. Breathing hurt. Worse, there was a low and heavy unease in the air, a sickening feeling of dread that was worse than any cold. She bit down on her lips to stop her teeth from chattering and looked up at the Wall was blazing blue and crystalline before her in the sunlight. Centuries of dirt pocked and scoured it, giving it a dirty glow, but now as the sun hit it at a certain angle, it gleamed with the brilliance of a huge blue and white crystal that would blind all those who dare gaze upon it.

"You all right, my lady?" Jon asked her quietly, his voice soft.

"Please stop asking me that," she said in a low voice, drawing the heaviness of her fur cloak further around her narrow shoulders. She was wearing her chain mail, several layers of clothing. She was also in boy's trousers – a heavy riding skirt would have been dangerous for this particular journey where she needed to run, scramble and climb. 

"Here, let me look at your arm."

"It's fine."

"You're still bleeding," he pointed out tersely.

"I said it's fine. I'll deal with it later."

"Wounds like that can mortify, my lady. Unless you want to have your arm chopped off – suggest you let him look at it," Acting Lord Commander Tollett – known as Edd, told her grimly. "Let me take her back to Castle Black first, my lord," Edd offered to Jon.

"No. We wait here until we know that Bran and Meera are safe," Lyanna insisted stubbornly. 

"Then let me look at your arm," Jon ordered her and she sat down on a fallen tree stump and stared fixedly at the Wall while he unwrapped the first bandage. The cut was a bad one – long and deep, although he was relieved to see that there no sign of infection. He cleaned the cut.

"I'm sorry," he told her gently when she flinched from the pain.

"It's nothing," she lied, staring straight ahead, biting down on her lower lip as he cleaned away the blood and dressed the wound with a salve pulled from saddlebags. He wrapped her arm with a fresh bandage and handed her a small cloth to blot the blood from her lower lip that she had bitten so hard, she had drawn blood.

Her gaze fell upon the cage in the corner of the cave, a cage that had been fashioned from a cunning combination of Valyrian steel and dragonglass. The cage was tied down to a sled and inside the cage were two terrifying creatures. One a smaller, skeletal wraith that sat slumped and quiet, its dirty bones showing through the decaying flesh. It had been a child in life. The second was a taller figure, dressed in fine armour and chain mail, an embroidered surcoat … and its terrifying eyes glowed a brilliant blue. It was a blue that was deeper and bluer than any human eyes could ever be, a blue that burned like ice - much like the Wall itself.

She'd never seen a White Walker before and these past few weeks she had seen many of them, many, many times… The increased exposure had intensified the fear rather than reduced it.

They had found Bran and Meera in one of the many caves that they were being sheltered in by the Night's Watch. Every couple of days, men from Castle Black would move them to a different location, zig-zagging, taking a circumlocutious route to the new hiding place. The two youths were provided with food and provisions by the brothers of the Nights Watch. It wasn't an ideal existence, but at least they were not alone anymore. When Bran had seen his brother again for the first time in a very, very long time, it had been an emotional reunion and there had been much news and information to share.

"OK, time to move again, boys," Edd had declared that first night, the lad's been here since yesterday – the dead bastards will be showing up before we know it."

It hadn't been a moment too soon for Ghost had began a warning wail and they had heard the inexorable shuffle of the army of the dead on the ice.

"Take him," Jon had ordered his former Brothers and they had nodded and ridden way with Meera and Bran on their saddles to their new hiding spot.

Jon and his men had remained behind. They raised their bows and nocked arrows tipped with dragonglass to their bowstrings. A dozen sailed through the air, stopping wights in their tracks and disintegrating several White Walkers. 

This caused the approach to halt momentarily, giving Jon and his men time to escape. The same manoeuvre was repeated many times over the coming weeks. They were able to retrieve arrows shot into wights. The arrows that killed a White Walker vanished with that walker. Fortunately, scouts from Castle Black rode out to them regularly and kept them in ready supply of obsidian-tipped arrows and provisions.

The skirmish on their last night had gone very badly and they had waited too long to loose their arrows, resulting in hand to hand combat in the forest. Four brothers of the Nights Watch had perished along with five of Jon's men. 

Somehow despite the chaos, they'd managed to chase one wight and a White Walker, using blunted lengths of dragonglass and the flats of their sword to herd the two creatures into the cage. Jon had roared for them to be careful, not touch the creatures and to _run_ … He, Lyanna and a handful of men had remained behind to create time for the others to escape. The cart and the cage slowed progress so they needed all the help they could get, help that was bought at great cost.

"My lady – you need to leave now," Jon had ordered as Lyanna had stood in the clearing, her sword blazing a trail through the air, cutting down wights around her. "You were supposed to go with them …"

"Donal needs my help," she had insisted, attempting to reach one of their men, a curly-haired youth from Winterfell who had become separated from the group and was surrounded by the dead.

"Leave me, my lady – you can do nothing!" Donal shouted at her, even as he was cut down by the blades and Lyanna was left to stare through the clearing in anguish at his hot blood splashing on the icy ground and the creatures swarmed over his twitching, body.

Fury reinvigorated her and her sword swung with even more purpose, cutting through row upon row of the dead inexorably and ruthlessly as she attempted to make her way back to her horse.

"Go! Save yourselves!" Jon bit out at Tormund, ordering the others to ride away as he flung himself up into his saddle and galloped through the thickening swarm of wights that was closing in around Lyanna who was fighting ferociously although she was clearly tiring.

"Hold on to your sword," he shouted as he leaned down to catch her around the waist and pull her from the ground up onto his own horse, jerking her out of reach of the grasping hands, the swinging axes, knives and blades. One of the wights grabbed at her long hair which in the fray had come loose from the braids that had been twisted tight around her head. In desperation, Jon used Longclaw to slash through the air, galloping away and leaving the wights clasping handfuls of long black hair.

Through blurred vision, Lyanna could see Tormund and his men throwing torches onto the mounds of bodies behind them, the flames igniting. From behind, more men nocked arrows that whistled through the air and destroyed even more of the dead.

The wights and Walkers fell back slightly and Lyanna watched as they became specks on the horizon as Jon's horse galloped across the snow towards their pre-arranged meeting place.

"Bran?" Jon demanded, looking around.

"We wait here," Edd had ordered them breathlessly. "The others will return when they have placed Bran and Meera somewhere safe – we'll ride back to Castle Black together."

As time passed and the men still had not returned, Lyanna could sense the tension increasing in Jon Snow as he stared out into the icy distance. It had been an impassioned farewell between the brothers.

"I'll see you again soon," Jon had promised his younger brother.

"I know," Bran had told him with a crooked smile. "Tell Arya and Sansa I miss them." He'd wept openly when he'd heard of the fate of the rest of his family and everyone in the cave had looked away to spare the boy his embarrassment. Jon had held Bran to him, cradling him like the child he no longer was. Both Meera and Bran had wept when they had spoken of Hodor.

"But this power that you have Bran – what is it?" Jon had asked him in wonderment.

"I don't know … and with the Three Eyed Raven gone … the old one - I need help understanding my visions …"

"I'll speak with my friend Sam," Jon had promised him on the night the brothers had parted once more. That had been their last opportunity to speak as the fight in the clearing had separated them.

Now, back in their hideout, the wait for confirmation of Bran and Meera's safety seemed interminable. "I should just kill you now," Tormund muttered, glaring at the White Walker who stood staring at them implacably in completely silent defiance.

"Please no," Jon told him. "It was hard enough to get these two."

He saw Lyanna shiver again and he grabbed for a blanket and draped it around her shoulders and tried to offer her a cup of brewed tea.

"You don't need to treat me like a child," she exploded with extremely uncharacteristic petulance, pulling away from him stiffly. Her hair, now short and dead straight in a ragged pageboy around her face made her look like a frightened little street urchin dark eyes that were huge in a paper white face. 

Hurt flickered in Jon's eyes.

"He's only treating you like a child because that's the way you are behaving," Tormund told her bluntly.

"Tormund – enough," Jon told the bearded wildling firmly.

"No, you don't get to 'enough' me Jon Snow … if she acts like an adult, we treat her like an adult. If she acts like a spoiled little shit, then that's how she gets treated."

Lyanna spun around furiously and glared at Tormund. "How dare you?"

"How dare _you_?" he shot back immediately. "Lord Crow here just risked his life to save you, stop acting like a mewling little girl child. It's all right to be afraid you know."

"I'm not afraid …" her voice trembled, betraying the lie.

Jon crouched down before her and put his hand on her shoulder gently. "Tormund's right … those things are terrifying. There's no shame in fear… I was frightened when I first saw them – still am every time I see them."

"I bloody shit myself the first time I saw the fucking White Walkers," Tormund chimed in.

"Me, too," Edd agreed. "Most do."

"Thank you, both of you. Very helpful," Jon bit out at the both of them before turning back to Lyanna.

Her lower lip quivered. "I wasn't afraid until I saw the children … " her eyes closed momentarily. "They were like something out of a nightmare …" The White Walkers were terrifying with their flesh pale as milk. The child wights were even more horrific.

"I agree," Jon told her softly. "Which is why I would have spared you this journey, my lady."

"I insisted on coming. And I needed to see this for myself." Her commander had been very unhappy when he was told he was to remain on Bear Island to protect it, insisting that his place was by her side.

"I'll see no harm comes to her, I promise," Jon had sworn to him, his dark eyes sincere. Lyanna's commander had nodded, even as concern has clouded his eyes. 

"I've watched over that girl since she was a scrap of a thing, barely able to walk…"

"She'll be safe with me."

Jon's smile was crooked now as he lifted a hand to touch the ragged hair that framed her pale little face. "I'll tidy it when we're back at Castle Black …" he promised her gently.

Hoofs on the snow made them look up expectantly. "They are safe, Lord Commander," the young Brother declared breathlessly.

"To Castle Black!" Edd declared and they set out across the rapidly darkening landscape. 

"I can take her, my lord," one of Jon's men told him when he reached out to have Lyanna lifted up onto his horse.

"No, she rides with me," he replied briefly. "We don't know where your horse is, I'm sorry, my lady. He ran away after the clearing … "

She nodded, her face heavy with sorrow. Jon arranged her fur cloak around her and drew her hood up around her head and then pulled her forward against his chest before he urged his horse into a steady walking pace.

He heard a muffled sniff from beneath her hood. "Oy - don't cry – snot and tears freeze out in this cold you know," he teased her.

"I'm not crying," she denied, furiously. Then in a smaller voicer. "I'm sorry I acted like a spoiled little shit."

That made him laugh. "We all act like one of those from time to time, my lady. How's your arm? And don't just say 'fine'."

"It hurts … but I'm all right."

It was past midnight when the cold, exhausted group re-entered the gates of Castle Black.

"Sam?" there was pure and wondering delight in Jon's voice as he helped Lyanna down from his horse and turned to see a stout young man with a rosy face beaming at him from across the courtyard, a maester's chain draped over his ample person.

"I thought my services might be required up here for a bit," he announced as the two men embraced warmly. "And who is this? Someone cut your hair with a knife, little boy?" he asked in amusement, crouching down and smiling pleasantly at Lyanna.

Jon cleared his throat. "Maester Samwell Tarly, permit me to introduce you to Lady Lyanna Mormont of House Mormont. You and Gilly are presently her guests."

"Oh …" Sam said, his eyes widening in astonishment.

"The wights caught my hair … his lordship had to cut it off," she explained in a low voice.

"His lordship?" Sam asked quizzically of his friend.

Jon shrugged in resignation. "Stubbornly sticks to formality. Come, let's out of this cold," he urged them, ushering both Lyanna and Sam upstairs to the chambers that Edd had allocated to them. He had refused the use of the Lord Commander's chambers, requesting only that he be given a room that allowed him to protect Lyanna but at the same time safeguard her modesty and privacy.

"I am sorry Lady Lyanna but I cannot permit you to have your own rooms here. It is far too dangerous a place …" he explained.

The Watch had built nineteen great strongholds along the Wall, but only three were still occupied: Eastwatch on its grey windswept shore, the Shadow Tower hard by the mountains where the Wall ended, and Castle Black between them, at the end of the kingsroad. The other keeps were long deserted, lonely and haunted places, where cold winds whistled through black windows and only the spirits of the dead manned the parapets. Even here at Castle Black, wights had been spotted… no where along the Wall was safe.

Thus her room was afforded a degree of privacy with heavy screens but it remained part of the larger room and accessible to her protector. Sam was invited to stay with them given the absence of any ladies to act as chaperon and to better allow him and Jon to converse on matters of importance.

"Thank you so ever so much for the cottage at Bear Island, my lady. Gilly and little Sam couldn't be happier and we had a fine time setting up the shelves for the books and your maester has been the soul of hospitality."

"I'm glad to hear of it. I am sure we shall be the better for your counsel."

"It sounds like you mean to remain at the Wall for a time?" Jon asked curiously as Lady Lyanna sat on a stool and he awkwardly tried to tidy her ragged hair with a pair of iron scissors. Her hair had no hint of a curl in it and was thick and dead straight. The more he cut, the more urchin-like she looked. In the end he gave up and decided he'd let the womenfolk at Winterfell tidy her hair.

"As you requested, we've been working on looking at the old charms and magicks… warding spells and guards… amulets and talismans … I won't be able to know if they work without testing them on actual wights and White Walkers," Sam explained enthusiastically, his brown eyes bright with anticipation. "So my plan is to stay here a little while to conduct some studies ... perhaps see if I can help Bran stay hidden for long periods of time until we have a more permanent solution …"

"My lady, if you'd like to have a bath, the men can bring some hot water into your chambers – Sam and I will stand guard while you bathe," he told her.

A little later, Lyanna lowered herself slowly into the hot steaming water with a sigh of relief and comfort.

"Mind you keep the bandage dry, my lady," Jon reminded her from the other side of the heavy screen.

She leaned back in the small metal tub and soaped her skin down, allowing the heat to soak the aches out of her body and trying to ignore the dirt and grime that filmed the surface of the bathwater. She listened intently as Sam and Jon spoke at length about all Sam had discovered. He spoke of Euron Greyjoy and the Dragon Horn, of Daenerys Targaryen crossing the Narrow Sea with her fleet of Iron Born supporters, having allied with Yara and Theon Greyjoy, of his research into Valyrian steel, additional findings of obsidian and his research on the White Walkers… It was easy to see why Jon was always sending ravens to his friend Sam.

"Bran says that they were created by the Children of the Forest …"

"Bran … I need to learn more about this brother of yours - you say he has greensight!"

"Yes …" there was a very strange tone to Jon's voice. 

"I take it he's told you some interesting things … perhaps even about your past?" The lack of response indicated that Jon was nodding rather than speaking aloud.

"Well I shall certainly enjoy speaking with him," Sam mused. "I imagine he has a wealth of useful information buried in those visions of this. Now tell me why you've brought a child to the Wall, Jon? That's not like you."

Lyanna scowled but before she could interject, Jon had already replied, his voice a little amused. "She may be young – and quite small – but you shouldn't under-estimate the Lady Lyanna, Sam. Your ear's not as close to the ground I'd thought if you don't know of how important she has been to our efforts this past year. I'd not have Houses Cerwyn, Glover and Manderly and others back at my side without her… she was also the only Northern House who agreed to support us when we went against Ramsay Bolton …"

"I were wrong to judge by appearances… hasty of me … and you'd think I'd know better by now, Jon," Sam replied humbly. "Now I must be off to speak with Edd about some supplies that we need for the charms…" The door opened and then closed as Sam left the room.

"Have you drowned in there, my lady? If you sit in the water much longer you'll become a shrivelled little prune."

Lyanna rose and dried herself quickly, dressing herself in her heavy night gown and dressing gown before emerging from behind the curtain, still towelling her short, dark hair.

"I'm done," she told him. "The water is cold," she remarked with a hint of sadness.

"The men will take it away shortly. Come sit with me by the fire where it's warm," he encouraged her and drew up a stool before the hearth for her and handed her a bowl of stew and a crust of bread before also sitting down beside the fire to eat his supper. "We head back to Winterfell tomorrow, my lady," he told her and she nodded, eating hungrily, her mouth stuffed full of bread and stew. 

"Are they letters for the families of the men who died today?" she asked, indicating the papers scattered on the desk in the corner. 

Jon nodded soberly. "Their families deserved to know that they died bravely … fighting for on the side of good."

"Have you written Donal's letter already?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "Of course not, m'lady. I assumed that you would want to tell Tarla in person."

Although from around Winterfell, Donal had frequently accompanied Jon on his many visits to Bear Island. In the course of those visits, he'd fallen in love with Tarla, the baker's daughter and the two had planned to wed in the summer.

"I think she might be with child already … the two hadn't been able to wait for the wedding day," Lyanna told him sadly.

"Then she shall have something to remember him by, even if it's just his bastard child," Jon said briefly, wiping his mouth and draining his tankard of ale. 

"What did Bran tell you that troubled you so?" she asked him urgently, staring up at him as the flickering of the fire cast shadows on his grave face. "You can tell me."

"Can I?" he asked her whimsically, his face a little haunted. He exhaled slowly. "I know not of the truth of his visions, but according to Bran, he saw the face of my mother…"

"That's good isn't it?"

He hesitated.

"Tell me."

"It would seem that I'm still a bastard, but not Ned Stark's … rather – I am born of his sister Lyanna and of - Rhaegar Targaryen."

He reached out and pushed her chin up lightly to close her mouth, which had fallen open in shock.

"Oh."

"That's all you're going to say?" he asked her, slightly amused. She wrapped her arms around her legs and frowned deeply, staring into the flames for a long moment.

"You can't tell anyone else. First of all, it means that you are a real contender for the Iron Throne … you have the blood of the North and the Dragons in your veins – those supporting House Targaryen would cut your throat in a heartbeat."

"I'm used to people wanting to kill me, little Bear. There's nothing unusual about that." He reached out to smooth the frown from her forehead. "Don't worry yourself about it – I didn't tell you to make you frown."

"You don't know how the Houses of the North will react … even with the Stark blood, they may refuse to follow a Targaryen …" 

"And you my lady? Have I lost your allegiance?" he asked her diffidently.

She shook her head. "Of course not. Did I not promise that you were my king from that day until your last day?"

"I'm touched, but I won't hold you to that promise as it was based on your assumption that I was Ned Stark's son …"

"Stark blood still runs in your veins. Besides – I don’t care."

"You don't care?" he repeated questioningly, his eyes stunned.

"Ser Davos said it that day you came to Bear Island –the real war isn't between a few squabbling houses, it's between the living and the dead – and you're the only one I can see leading an army to fight against the dead … so I stand by my original choice to recognise you as my king."

"Thank you my lady … your allegiance and counsel continues to remain a source of considerable support …"

"And now what?"

"You saw how many there were … I have several thousand Valyrian steel blades, several thousand arrows and blades with dragonglass – this isn't enough to defeat an army of the dead that numbers in the hundreds of thousands – perhaps more … we need more power … more fire …" he told her meaningfully.

Her eyebrows raised. "You are going to ask the aid of Daenerys Targaryen?"

"She has three dragons … dragon fire may hold the magic that we need to turn the tide …"

"She may expect you to marry her in return," Lyanna remarked with complete seriousness.

"As a Targaryen she's probably very blonde – not my type at all," he joked.

"Not all Targaryens are blond," she pointed out meaningfully, raising her mug of tea in his direction.

"Bastard remember?" he muttered dryly.

"You don't have to keep calling yourself a bastard."

He shrugged. "A man once told me, _never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you …_. For me, bastard is just a word now … it no longer has the power to hurt me."

"So why would Daenerys Targaryen want to help you? In her eyes you'll be a rival for the throne …"

"You just said it yourself. I'll remind her that the real war is against the Night King and his army of countless dead. If we don't wipe him out, then there will be kingdom for her to conquer and rule."

"How will you even get an audience to make her listen?"

"She is travelling with Theon – Ned Stark's former ward … a hostage from the Iron Islands … we grew up together … he saved Sansa from Ramsay Bolton and may be persuaded to listen to a message from us. There are rumours that she is also travelling with Tyrion Lannister who she has appointed as Hand of the Queen …"

"You know Tyrion?"

"I do … he travelled with me when I first left Winterfell to join the Night's Watch – it was he who told me not to shrink from the word bastard… and if he will not listen to me, he may listen to his brother Jaime…"

"And if that will not work?" she asked him.

He smiled wryly. "If that were to fail, then I would beg the most persuasive and wisest member of my war council to convince Daenerys Targaryen even though after all this time, I am not able to convince her to call me by name."

That made her smile. 

"Jon," she said finally.

"I am honoured, Lyanna," he told her, greatly moved. "Clearly miracles can happen and anything is possible," he teased. As he reached out and tousled her short, black hair as though she were Arya, he realised that he actually believed the truth of his own words.


	13. Dragon's Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks request assistance from Daenerys Targaryen ...

_Queen Daenerys Targaryen_

_We are Sansa Stark, Arya Stark and Jon Snow of House Stark. Your advisor Tyrion Lannister will be able to tell you of the difficulties we have faced over the years, of the death of our beloved family members arising out of inter-House wars. He will also be able to tell you that our father Eddard Stark only ever sought to do his duty and had no aspirations for power._

_We beg your support in a grave endeavour. North of the Wall, the Night King leads his army of White Walkers and wights. His objective, to destroy man and bring back the Long Night. Only Valyrian steel and dragonglass have proved to have any ability to destroy these foul creatures._

_Our armies are too few and weak, our weapons insufficient. If the Night King succeeds in his efforts to annihilate mankind, there will be no kingdoms for you to govern and the world will be plunged into a darkness from which it may never recover._

_We plead with you to consider joining us in the fight against the Night King. In return, we pledge our allegiance and the allegiance of the North to support your claim as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms._

_\- Sansa Stark  
\- Arya Stark  
\- Jon Snow_

* * *

Daenerys looked up from the parchment and stared at Tyrion and Theon.

"Well? Is what they tell me true?"

Both nodded silently.

"What's to say they don't try to murder me after I've helped them kill their Northern monsters?"

Tyrion cleared his throat. "Majesty. I can attest to the honour that runs through this family - sometimes to its detriment."

"Well then, I look forward to meeting my new allies."

Her full mouth curved into a cool and triumphant smile.

**fin**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the time being, this is the final chapter in this series of scribbles. I might reopen the fic again later if I have other ideas but for now that's it. The story continues in the time jump forward fic [**Seven Years Later**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7439121).
> 
> I really, really hope that everyone has enjoyed this fic.


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